


This Is How I Wanna Go

by Marinia



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst and Drama, Assassin Deceit, Attempted Ones At Least, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, Crying, Daddy Issues, Deceit Sanders Has a Different Name, Feels, Fighting Dirty, Flirting, General Roman, Good Deceit Sanders, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Not That They Would Ever Admit It, One Night Stands, Rivalry, Smitten, Sparring, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Useless Gays, War, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21916615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marinia/pseuds/Marinia
Summary: Sir Roman, the General, the Protector of the Crown, Loyal Servant to his King, was exactly the man he’d dreamt of being since he was a young boy. A knight and a thrall by providence; the man his soldiers looked up to.And he was proud of it too.Sir Roman was fighting in the front lines of their civil war, shattering the armies the Dragon Queen- the Dragon Witch, Roman would sneer- had supplied the pathetic rebels with.Dante was the assassin sent to stop him, to kill him.Now, if only the general wasn't so charming.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Comments: 22
Kudos: 73





	This Is How I Wanna Go

Sir Roman, the General, the Protector of the Crown, Loyal Servant to his King, was exactly the man he’d dreamt of being since he was a young boy. Was exactly the man his Captain had raised him to be. A knight and a thrall by providence; the man his soldiers looked up to. 

He was the King's youngest general to date, the best swordsman their kingdom had seen in four lifetimes, a tactician able to debate his King’s advisors any day of the week. Was a leader to the bone, the perfect asset. And proud of it too. 

Sir Roman was the one fighting in the front lines of their civil war, the one who shattered the armies the Dragon Queen- the Dragon Witch, Roman would sneer- had supplied the pathetic rebels with. Without her crude interference, the war wouldn’t be fought, and the general, the golden boy, he was determined in reinstating the rightful rule of his King. 

It was logical for Lady Serpens to want him gone. Use the resulting chaos to her benefit, turn the tide of war in her favour, throw the old King off his throne and claim the land for herself... there were many reasons to pick from. 

She sent a man known only as Deceit. He was exactly the man she needed to realise her goals, an assassin, the master of his craft, swayed by money and little else, loyal to the highest bidder alone. 

She paid him a handsome sum, and he promised her the general’s head. 

* * *

Dante looked rather dashing in his armour, if you asked him. He’d taken it off some new recruit on his way to the camp. The boy had been _too_ easy to get rid of. Almost laughable. With such soldiers fighting for him, the general would be killed in no time at all. 

Even if he was miraculously superior to his soldiers- Dante had killed many a leader, many a fighter, many a man, before. This was nothing new for him. Was familiar to the point of _boredom_. He couldn’t wait to get his reward and return to the court. At least the idle intrigues could hold his attention for a little while. At least the hearth’s fire would chase away the winter cold. 

Dante frowned as he sought the training pit the young general supposedly spent most his free time in- probably showing off countless scars and disfigurements. Soldiers, especially ones as experienced in war as Sir Roman, tended to be covered in them. Maybe he’d have a fresh wound he could simply poison? It’d make his job so much easier- 

The assassin stopped, breath catching, taking in the form of his target.

 _Why was he so pretty?_ And why hadn’t anyone warned Dante about this- _demigod_ before him. 

Sir Roman was decked out in nothing but a simple leather armour, hiding the lithe muscle working under his bronze skin, white undershirt already dripping with sweat, wielding deathly steel in his hands with grace, long copper hair braided back, shining in the sun. His motions were prudent, precise, powerful; a human weapon- 

The picture of beauty. 

Dante’s breath was short, watching the general, drawn as taut as a bow, movements sharp as his sword’s blade. He was beating some poor sod. Dante wishes he could be closer. The soldier moved away from the training pit, after a pat on the shoulder. He blushed as the General grinned at him. The expression was arrogant and boisterous, had Dante shaking with the desire to get closer, to wipe the expression off his face, to fight him, see who’d be better, stronger, _slier_. 

And it seemed Lady Luck had come to grant him his wish: the general walked towards him, recognizing a new face and a belligerent look on it. Sir Roman was much smaller than Dante, even with his heeled boots. His sweat was glistening in the meagre winter sun, he must’ve been freezing. He’d just fought a man, looked like he’d been at it for hours- the general had to be exhausted, weakened. Should be. Should seem ridiculous, arrogant, stupid. 

It should’ve taken away from the intimidating veneer he wore, just like his long braid should’ve been messy from the fighting, but normal rules didn’t seem to apply to the handsome soldier. 

But Dante was quickly learning that the general didn’t bother with such petty mortal liitations, and it had him all the more curious for a fight, his hands wandering over hidden weaponry, his muscles shifting under his skin; he may not be strong, like the man in front of him, but he was tall, and fast. Easy on his feet. So he looked down at the general, with a lazy smile to hide his excitement at getting to test the strength of his target. 

"Newbie, think you can beat me?" Sir Roman nodded towards the training pit, grinning. Poised to strike. "Why don't we try and see,” he continued, before Dante could answer, almost excited. Maybe we'll both learn something from it!" He called it out to the crowd around them, raising up his arms, and they cheered, obviously for their general- 

Dante grinned, even as he tried to bite down on the motion, seeing the camaraderie, the easy way the soldiers cheered Roman on and wished him luck; with his stolen uniform, he must look like a mutinous foot-soldier. 

He followed Sir Roman, had to, was watching the soldier from behind. He was skilled with many a weapon, could distract those who outclassed him with pretty words, but swords were too broad for him, too heavy and direct for a liar by nature. They didn’t fit into his line of work, and he’d never possessed any desire to learn of their noble dance, preferring the precise work of a small knife and a well-placed blow. 

But the General was strong and stout, the sword an extension of his arm, a sword fighter and a noble one at that. Dante smirked at him, picking out two blades he’d hidden in his leather armour, swinging them expertly, replying to Roman's surprise with a blown kiss. 

Maybe he'd go to his tent after this duel, when the night was there to protect him. Kiss his rose-petal lips before killing him.

But for now, they circled each other. Sir Roman waiting for Dante to atack, for what he perceived as a footsoldier to get their first and most likely only hit in. Honourable as he was, the general was filled with excitement at the idea of the recruit being skilled, being his equal, having a reason for his posturing, unlike so many of his comrades. 

And it offered him an opportunity to get a good look of the footsoldier, for potential weaknesses only, of course. The recruit was tall, but thin, gangly, his arms seeming almost too long for his body, his every step cautious, as if he was more experienced with a brawl than a duel. His movements were serpentine in their grace, in the cunning held in the recruit’s eyes. His fingers, long and elegant, were wrapped around his daggers, familiar in their placement, his knuckles neither white nor tense. He knew his way around a fight, and Roman yearned to know how well- 

Dante jumped forward, blades gleaming. 

A symphony of steel, of quick steps, the perversion of a dance, snarls almost gleeful enough to be smiles, bloodlust curling around the edges. Not as noble as it should’ve been, almost raw, almost dirty. 

The assassin corrupting the honourable rules of the general, forcing him to think fast as he used every trick in his books, just to get a rise out of him, just to see how Sir Roman would react. 

They were both out of breath, but unharmed still. For now. 

Roman was feeling his soldiers eyes on him, their expectations: he was a master of warfare, he couldn’t allow a mere novice to beat him! 

But the foot soldier shot up again, daggers glinting in the light as he started with a feint, almost cutting the general with the blow behind it. The people around them were becoming background noise, nothing but silhouettes and wordless exclamations. 

Roman stepped forward, suddenly, chest to chest with his enemy. He watched Dante's eyes blow up, wrapped a hand around his wrist, before twisting it, making the other stumble, lose his balance. He punched the air out of his lungs with the breadth of his sword, turning with a dancer’s grace to kick the recruit in the back of his knees. 

The recruit knelt in the pit now, panting hard- before he could stand up again, beat him to the punch, Roman stooped down behind him, gripping the footsoldier’s arms to keep him from moving, keeping him on the ground the ground, sure of his victory!

They were pressed together, both panting, almost sharing the same air, and he could see hints of lean muscles peeking out of his opponent's armour. And he saw it was buckled wrong, a rookie's mistake, one that should’ve been corrected by his superior officer, or a fellow soldier- 

Dante tensed up, before thrusting out his legs, pushing himself against the wall of muscle holding him. Roman fell behind, lay on the ground- his soldier turned around, crouching over him with a proud grin, holding Roman’s arms by his sides. The taller man looming over him, having incapacitated him, caging the general in. A position that should terrify him was now only setting his heart a-flutter.

He couldn't escape here, was too small, and the other knew it, was smirking, all smug and self-satisfied, and Roman adored him, adored the bastard who was his equal, pressing a kiss to his lips with sudden vigour. 

Dee went slack, hands that had pinned him before now weak and easy to push away. Roman rolled up to his feet, picking his discarded sword up on the way, poised and graceful, his soldier's cheers echoing in his ears as he grinned, looking down at the other who turned around, moving to stand up- but Sir Roman pointed his sword as his throat, tutting at him. 

"You got distracted, big guy," he smiled, enjoying the wide-eyed look the other was giving him, even as he put on a bad impression of calm. He let his sword's tip run over his throat, threatening to cut it, hearing his soldiers whoop.

They exchanged another smile, "It's an understandable mistake, don't worry, many have made it before," he put his sword away, offering him a hand to pull him up. "Name, soldier?" 

"Dante, sir," the assassin said, the fake name needing a second to return to him. The general nodded, wrapping an arm around him in easy camaraderie. Dante understood how so many soldiers followed him. He leaned into the touch.

"You can learn from this! If your opponent has you pinned and you can't escape- this is especially important if you're smaller or not as strong- use their weakness against them! Kiss them if they're that obvious,” Roman winked at him, and Dante stuck out his tongue, marveling at the ease and the childishness of the motion in the very next moment, “or go for a kick on the the shin, whatever you prefer, whatever fits your opponent," he pressed another kiss, on Dante's cheek this time, patting him on the back before releasing him. 

“Who's next?" 

Dante just may defect.

He was rethinking that during drills and training, all under the backdrop of other soldiers trying to talk to him, helping him and teasing him, managing to distract him from a disgusting dinner, and really, the Dragon Queen owed him something for this _torture_. Or Sir Roman did- he was the one leading this squadron, after all. He must be the cause of its camaraderie, the ease between his soldiers. 

He was starting to collect the words for it, for something he wouldn’t admit to himself he hoped to be teasing, to be bickering, to be- Sir Roman snatched him up, after dinner, picking him from the men who’d claimed him as their charge. The general smiled, asking him whether he wanted to spend the evening with him. 

His friends snickered, not even bothering to hide it, and Dante gave the general a Cheshire cat's grin. He tried not to stumble, between flipping off the whooping idiots behind him and wrapping his arms around a preening Sir Roman. He wouldn’t admit to be charmed by the blush on the general’s bronze skin. 

He should kill Roman now, in the privacy of his tent, but… it couldn’t hurt to enjoy a nice evening. Just one night, before- well, he’d have to do his job, he supposed. 

They sat together in the tent, on velvet pillows sitting on thick carpets, after passing a lot of soldiers giving them knowing looks or smiles, some sending envious looks his way. Dante couldn't blame them. Grinned at them, with a suggestive wink. 

Roman opened a bottle of wine, sweet and barely alcoholic by the smell of it. "Just so you know- this will stay out of my treatment of you as my charge," the general said. He was looking for two glasses. The words sounded familiar to his tongue, but still, there was a veneer of shyness to the phrase. He was a goody-two-shoes, then. Or had been raised as one, Dante corrected, thinking of the ease with which Roman had approached him. 

“You won't get into any problems if you don't want this,” Roman continued, “won't get any special treatment if you do- well, outside of this tent, at least." 

Dante snorted and Roman smiled. The assassin leant back. He watched the general fix them both a glass, barely filling it. Worried he’d have a low tolerance, perhaps. He sighed, quietly, to himself. He'd have to kill Roman tonight, probably. He just might be charmed otherwise. 

They sat together on the nice plush pillows that Roman had allowed himself to indulge in. Both men were evenly matched in wits, humour and intelligence. Roman wondered how this recruit could be so clearly educated, so smart and beautiful, without the pockmarks or the scars that marred even his skin. 

He watched Dante, hung to his words, spilling from red-wine lips, a loosened tongue allowing the supposed recruit to cackle easily, to joke dirtily. They were so close, he could see it, when Dante relaxed just a bit more, leaning back, a lull, an accent, entering his voice. Words taking on a foreign lilt. 

Roman's train of thought froze. His smile too, for a moment, before he let it stretch again, the motion suddenly painful as if his skin was pushed in a direction it shouldn't go in. Dante was a liar, and the hidden scars across his back moaned with phantom pain as he heard his father's lessons come back to him, reminding him not to trust a soul. He’d be so disappointed, seeing him now, seeing him like this- 

But Dante- if that was his name at all- was pretty and charming and his accent was too. Roman wondered, if he'd wait until after, or if he'd pull the knife out under the guise of easing him out of his uniform, before slitting his throat. He wondered if he would smile the same way he did now, or if he’d show his true form. He wondered, if Dante was anything but a collection of lies to meet a goal. He wondered, if it should be so easy to forgive the other for wanting to kill him. 

He sighed, wondering still, leaning into Dante and letting himself be held by strong arms that may turn to strangle him at any moment, and he almost called it romantic. 

For a man as well acquainted with violence-tinged affection -and education, and lessons and rewards and _everything_ \- it was easy. Was the only way to see it. So he relaxed his limbs in a familiar, careful way. Let Dante hold him and talk to him before it got too nerve-wracking. 

He pressed kisses to his mouth to hide the way his hands were shaking, and then down his neck, sucking a bruise to his skin, maybe one of the last things he'd ever do, the only mark he'd leave on his killer, and it'd be gone in a week. 

He blinked away a tear, instead kissing Dante again, impatiently tugging at his hair. To stop his racing thoughts, with one or the other, he didn't care, couldn't let himself care. Couldn’t let himself think about what he’d prefer Dante do next. 

Dante kissed Roman back, was already opening the front of his tunic, mouth running dry at the expanse of tan, scarred skin, white and dark lines over brown. He pressed kisses and marks to it, worshipping the gorgeous man in front of him like he deserved, listening to his breath catch. His warm hands ran over Roman's sides, playing with the remainder of his clothes. 

He wanted to tease, to play- 

He stopped, froze, flinched away when he heard Roman muffle a sob. 

He muffled the sound under his hand, but it was the only thing Dante could hear right then. He moved away, shivering with worry and- the arousal that’d been building in the pit of his stomach was gone, replaced with a startling fear for his partner. 

Roman shook his head, tried to wipe away the tears on his cheeks and blink away those burning in his eyes. "It's alright, I just- just a second, it's all okay, I'll be- fine in a second, don't worry, I'm fine, I'm fine-" Dante almost recoiled at the lies, chorus of claims that were so obviously untrue. But it just served to make Roman more upset. He shook his head, a frantic, confused motion, reaching out to him as if for comfort- 

"Roman, what's going on?" Dante wished his voice wasn't so high, wished he could be calm and collected like Roman deserved, but this- Roman had seemed like the collected one! Like he was strong and confident and not- 

The general groaned, a low, pained sound. "Just go! I know you don't care, just- let me have something before you kill me! Just- just get it _over with._ " His voice cracked. He couldn't stop his tears, staining his vision. He was unable to pull himself together like he’d been taught. 

It'd be easy to kill him now, use his emotions against him. The mere idea had Dante feeling sick with himself. 

He stepped away, closed the buttons on his shirt, grabbed the duvet on Roman’s bed and wrapped it around Roman's shoulders as the teary General sat up, jaw clenched, watching him move. 

"Is this some convoluted technique for me to lower my guard?" His voice was dead as the stars. It hurt. 

Dante pressed a pillow into his arms, for the general to hold close. He shook his head. "I'm not stooping that low for you,” he tried to tease. “Do you want some water?" 

The general tried to be resilient, the man he was raised to be! But he had no energy left. Roman nodded, cupping the chalice with both hands. How could it be that a hitman invited more of his trust than most men under his command? The ones he'd protect with his life, who would give theirs to protect him? … Had he failed them, feeling like that?

Roman sighed, turning to look at- He blinked. “What's your name?" 

"No living soul knows,” Dante lied. He softened when he saw Roman slump again. "But you'll be dead soon either way, so,” he sighed, “it's Dante now, like I said." 

Roman nodded, almost smiling, before his brows knitted together. “What was your name- before? Or do you want to keep the mystery alive?” he teased, voice only a bit hoarse anymore. 

Dante laughed, still just a bit cautious in his movements. “It used to be Draco, to match my sister,” he admitted. Roman would be dead soon either way, he tried to convince himself. 

"What's she like?" 

Dante scoffed, but answered. Trying to remember age-old memories, some as good as forgotten or suppressed. Trusting a stranger more than anyone else he’d met in years. What a disgrace. He wondered, between tales and cautious jabs, if he should mind. 

That night, they kept a distance between each other but... Roman's mask had cracked, just like Dante's. And it wasn’t until the morning that they tried mending those cracks again, that they tried to become strangers again. 

They couldn’t quite manage. They both wondered, though, if he cracks would turn into shards. If time would let them discover that. 


End file.
